


Between Shadow and Soul

by excelgesis



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Experimental Style, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 13:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelgesis/pseuds/excelgesis
Summary: Maybe it’s better, Mark thinks, that Donghyuck takes his honey skin and windchime voice and goes far, far away--because Donghyuck is sin personified and Mark Lee is a good Christian.But Mark knows that in the dead of night he'd gladly take bruised knees and an aching throat for Donghyuck, and he finds no reprieve in Bible verse or the kaleidoscopic beauty of stained glass.





	Between Shadow and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> "I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul."  
-Pablo Neruda, "Love Sonnet XVII"

Mark is fourteen when he meets sin personified.

Sin is also fourteen, with a mop of unruly dark hair and skin that glows like embers. But he’s funny, and he always brings extra snacks when they play video games together in Mark’s bedroom, so it’s okay for Mark to ignore that he doesn’t go to church on Sundays and that curse words sometimes tumble from his tongue. Mark’s mother thinks that it’s a bad idea, befriending sin, because _he might grow up to be a bad influence._

But Donghyuck could never be a bad influence. Mark is sure of that.

✢

Mark is sixteen when sin smiles at him, all sharp edges and pearly teeth, and asks _what’s so great about her, anyway? _

They’re on the bus home from school, and Donghyuck has shucked off his uniform jacket and crumpled it into a ball on his lap. Mark stares at the edges of the plastic nametag jutting up from the canyons of blue fabric. At this angle, all he can see are the two characters making up the _Lee_ in Donghyuck’s family name. He finds it odd that the jacket could just as easily be his, and no one would know the difference.

He swallows. _I just like her, Hyuck. _

_ Because she’s got long hair and she calls you ‘oppa.’_

Mark tugs anxiously at the silver ring on his finger. That’s not true, of course, but why does he have to justify himself to Donghyuck?

_Do you two even have anything in common? Will she play video games with you, and listen to the music you write, and watch those stupid movies you like– _

And Mark hates him because he’s right. Because he’s only known Yoohyeon for a month, and their conversations are shallow at best, and the couple ring on his finger feels like a lead weight. But she’s pretty, and she’s smart, and his mother loves her and thinks that she’ll make a good wife someday. And Mark has thought about it—has thought about renting an apartment with her and having a kid and sleeping in the same bed until he’s dead—and it leaves him with a hollow ache.

_My parents like her, Hyuck. That’s what matters. _

The words are lifeless when they fall from his tongue, and sin notices.

He always does.

✢

Mark is nineteen when sin looks at him with guarded eyes and says that he likes boys.

And it isn’t a surprise, not really, because Mark and sin are well acquainted and secrets don’t last long under the fluorescent light of Mark’s stuffy goshiwon. It isn’t big enough for two people, and Donghyuck only lives three floors down, but he’s got his back pressed against the sky-blue wallpaper and his hands buried deep in the pocket of his hoodie.

And it’s fine, Mark knows it’s fine, he tells himself that it’s fine. But something twists inside him, dark and venomous, and maybe his mother was right all those years ago. Maybe Donghyuck is a bad influence.

He wants Donghyuck to be happy, wants it more than _anything,_ but—

_You know I was… I was raised a certain way, Hyuck, and there are things that I believe that I can’t just… turn off. I mean, as long as you’re happy, I’ll support you, and I’ll support your choice—_

_ Choice? _It's almost a shout, but it’s stopped short by the sob that rests in the back of Donghyuck’s throat. And oh, Mark feels terrible now, because Donghyuck is scrambling to his feet and tripping over the stack of textbooks on the floor.

Mark reaches to help him, but Donghyuck flinches away from his touch.

And it’s odd that Mark Lee, a faithful Christian, has sin staring him dead in the face, and yet he feels like the bad one.

✢

But Mark finds no reprieve.

He finds no comfort in the rise and fall of a church choir’s hymn, nor the kaleidoscopic beauty of stained glass on a Sunday morning. Each note, each word, each bookmarked Bible page settles like a stone in his stomach and his fingers curl.

Because he and Donghyuck had been inseparable for five years, and not speaking to him for a week feels like dying. So he leaves church early, ignoring the bitter taste on his tongue, and takes the subway back to their building. He won’t wait for the elevator, and it’s only four flights, so he takes the stairs two at a time and skids to a halt in front of Donghyuck’s door. His fingers easily key in the passcode because Donghyuck _never_ answers—

And Donghyuck is seated on his desk, legs wrapped around a boy in dark jeans, and Mark feels his blood sear through him like lightning. Donghyuck’s fingers are buried in the boy’s light hair, and Mark can see the way his lips are parted, can hear his ragged breaths. His honey skin is sweat-slick and his eyes are screwed shut, and the boy hovering above him is leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck.

And Mark’s necktie is too tight, he must have tied it too tightly before leaving that morning, because he can’t breathe. He should have stayed at church; he shouldn’t be here—

The boy lets a hand slip beneath the waistband of Donghyuck’s jeans, and the high-pitched whine that stutters from Donghyuck’s lips is enough to make Mark’s palms sweat. He has to go, he needs to leave, because the sun through the window makes Donghyuck’s skin drip honey, and the way he’s moaning _ah, yes, please _makes Mark’s insides burn. His Bible slides through his sweaty palms and hits the floor with a _thunk_, and Donghyuck yelps in surprise. His eyes find Mark instantly, and the shock isn’t quite enough to bury the lust—

_What the fuck are you doing here?_

Mark’s mouth is cotton and sandpaper. He tries to form words but he can’t.

_If you support my choices so much, get the hell out and let me continue them._

The boy has taken his hand from Donghyuck’s jeans, but he instead uses it to grip onto his hip with a tight, possessive hold. Donghyuck lets his head fall back, and the boy nips at his ear with a smile. _Friend of yours?_ He asks.

Donghyuck’s breathy reply is _something like that_, and Mark pulls the door shut before the heat climbing up his spine leaves him boneless.

✢

Another week passes, then two, then three, and there’s nothing but radio silence. And maybe it’s better, he thinks, that sin takes his honey skin and windchime voice and aching eyes and goes far, far away, because Mark Lee is a good Christian and doesn’t associate with sinful things.

He doesn’t think of sin’s hands on him, taking him apart with a wicked smile and a skillful tongue.

He doesn’t think of the way sin might writhe and gasp if Mark ever let his teeth graze the skin of his neck.

He doesn’t think of sin’s fingers buried in the bedsheets, back arched and begging for more as expletives fall from his pretty mouth.

Mark doesn’t think of any of those things. When it’s dark and he’s alone in his windowless room with a hand wrapped around his aching cock, he tells himself that he doesn’t. Because he’s a good Christian, he thinks, even with Donghyuck’s name on his tongue as he comes into his own hand. And good Christians don’t associate with sinful things.

✢

The weather starts to get cold again, and Mark’s windowless room is somehow too big and too small all at once. He had always liked snow, liked the way it piled in drifts along the sidewalks, and Donghyuck knew that. Donghyuck knew everything, so he would drag Mark to his room on winter days like these and let him watch the snow through his window.

_A room with a window costs an extra 50,000 won per month. Might as well make it useful. I just pull the curtain over it half the time, you fucking weirdo. _

But he would smile and make hot chocolate and play movies on his laptop, and he’d only kick Mark out if he started snoring too loudly.

And Mark cries, then, because they’d had something delicate—something beautiful and fragile and lovely—and he’d crushed it like glass between his fingers. The shards hurt now, where they dig into his skin, but he supposes that sin was never meant to be painless.

The door opens then, and he knows it’s Donghyuck because no one else has his passcode, and he scrubs at his eyes with the back of a hand. Donghyuck had dyed his hair sometime in the past month, and it falls across his forehead in golden tangles that make Mark think of angel halos and Lucifer being cast from heaven.

_Come to my room, loser._

And Mark almost doesn’t, because he knows they’ll have to talk about everything they haven’t said, everything that sits between them like landmines. But Donghyuck is reaching for his hand, and Mark is reaching back with bloodied fingertips as the nostalgia cuts deep.

But falling onto the rumpled sheets of Donghyuck’s twin bed is an instant reprieve, and he’s almost startled by its intensity. He watches as Donghyuck pulls open the curtain, and there’s a sudden ache in his chest as wide as the ocean.

_I’m sorry, you know. _

_ You should be._

_I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters._

There’s a long pause. It feels endless, and Mark wonders if he’ll die like this, with Donghyuck’s back turned toward him and static in his ears. And it’s worse, somehow, than everything else. It’s worse than marrying Yoohyeon and living in lukewarm mediocrity. It’s worse than the shame that burns through him as Donghyuck’s name falls from his tongue in the middle of the night. It’s worse, because all he ever wanted was for Donghyuck to be happy, and he _ruined it—_

_ If that boy makes you happy, you should be with him. No matter what anyone else says._

Donghyuck snorts. _We barely know each other. _

It’s a statement of fact when Mark says _someone who understands you would make you happier, I think._ There’s a thinly veiled implication behind it, and he almost wishes he could take it back. But he doesn’t because he knows that he’s right.

Donghyuck knows it, too, because he turns around and stares at Mark with an expression that’s painful to look at. _Don’t say things like that, Mark._

They drop the subject after that and watch a superhero movie on Donghyuck’s laptop, but there’s a foot of space between them that feels like a mile.

✢

And perhaps Mark Lee is a terrible Christian, because he thinks he’d gladly take bruised knees for Donghyuck, with a hand tugging at his hair and his throat aching. He’d take Donghyuck pressing him against the wall and whining as Mark whispers filthy praise against his neck. He’d take Donghyuck with open arms and burn him to the ground like hellfire. He can suddenly think of nothing else—while awake or asleep—because if Donghyuck had gasped under the hands of a boy he barely knew, he’d fall to pieces for Mark.

Mark isn’t sure how he knows this, but it sears through every muscle as sweat clings hot to his skin. And no matter how much he touches himself—how hard, how fast, how often—it’s not enough to tear the image of Donghyuck’s lust-blown pupils from his mind. It’s almost frightening how much he wants it—to hear Donghyuck begging in that honey-sweet voice as Mark breaks him down bit by bit against the bedsheets.

And perhaps Mark Lee is a terrible Christian, because he wants so badly to associate with sinful things.

✢

So when they’re alone together, and snow is falling thick and heavy outside the window, Mark can’t stop himself from asking _what’s so great about him, anyway?_

Donghyuck doesn’t look up from the laptop screen. _Who?_

_ That boy. From before._

He does look up then, and his eyes are so, so dark. _Why does it matter?_

Mark’s stomach turns inside out at Donghyuck’s stare. _I mean, if you barely know each other, then he definitely won’t play video games with you, or listen to the music you write, or watch these stupid movies that you like._

There’s static in the air. Donghyuck leans closer, and Mark thinks he feels his breath on his lips. _He’s a good fuck, Mark. That’s what’s great about him._

And now the air is draining from the room in a whirlwind and Mark is definitely going to pass out. He tries to suck in a breath, but it’s so shaky and Donghyuck can surely hear it and he’s so, so embarrassed. _You’d probably find a better f-fuck with someone you get along with._ It had sounded a lot better in his head, but the shock that flits across Donghyuck’s face makes it worth it.

_Oh really? And just who are you suggesting—_

The fire in Mark’s blood won’t let him back down, so he leans in and kisses him hard, and it’s wet and sloppy and not nearly as breathtaking as he wanted it to be. But Donghyuck’s eyes are wide when he pulls back, and their next kiss is more teeth than anything else, and _God, Mark wants him._

He wants his nails pressed into Donghyuck’s coppery skin, so he peels off every bit of clothing he can reach. And Donghyuck is just as eager, climbing into Mark’s lap and pressing his back against the rough wallpaper.

_I think you’re in over your head, _Donghyuck whispers, letting his teeth graze the skin of Mark’s neck.

Mark shudders down to his toes and shakes his head from side to side. _Wanna make you feel good, _he gasps. _Can’t stop thinking about it. _

Donghyuck hums at that, and Mark can only watch as he slowly works himself open with his own fingers, head thrown back and pretty whines falling from his mouth. It’s so filthy, so incredibly sinful, that Mark feels the familiar bite of shame working up the back of his throat. But then Donghyuck gasps, and a breathy _Mark, please, need you_ slips off his tongue, and the shame is replaced with dizzying desire.

With weeks and weeks of Donghyuck’s face in his mind’s eye, Mark is rougher than he would have thought he was capable of. Donghyuck is pinned to the mattress, fingers twisted in the sheets, back arched and gasping as Mark leaves him no time to breathe. Angry bruises bloom red and purple across Donghyuck’s pretty skin, Mark’s fingernails dig deep enough to draw blood, Donghyuck’s golden hair turns dark with sweat as he writhes and begs for _more, ah, don’t stop._

And Mark is moaning against his neck, an endless mantra of _pretty, so p-pretty, Hyuck, you’re always so pretty, love you like th-this, _and Donghyuck keens at the praise just as Mark knew he would. And he’s moaning into Mark’s shoulder, telling him how good it feels, pulling on his hair and saying _come inside me, Mark, please._

And Donghyuck is crying when Mark finally does, his voice thick with tears when he gasps _G-God, so close, touch me—_And Mark strokes him hard enough to draw expletives from Donghyuck’s mouth, watching in awe as he sobs and chants that it’s _so so good, don’t stop, please, please. _His entire body shakes when he comes in Mark’s hand, and he whimpers against Mark’s neck.

And Mark thinks it makes sense, that sin is breathtaking and otherworldly. It makes sense that sin is beautiful like this, spread across the sheets with crystalline tears in his eyes and bruises dotting his skin like spilled paint. Sin was always made to be tempting, after all. It was made to pull you in on golden strings and whisper sugar-sweet things in your ear. And maybe Mark is a bad Christian for traipsing through hellfire just to associate with sinful things.

But when Donghyuck kisses him again, slow and soft and full of a scintillating _something,_ he thinks of angels and Lucifer being cast from heaven—

And he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been insanely busy lately and haven't been able to write for a long time ;;; i'm sorry??  
but i decided to write this little thing to get my brain working again since it's basically atrophied at this point asfdjksal  
i hope you guys like it,,,, as always i live to serve  
this is a style i've been wanting to try for a while and i'm not totally happy with it but,,,  
/crawls out a window and into oncoming traffic/
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/excelgesis)


End file.
